


A Friend

by Oliver__Niko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Light Angst, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: Just when he needs a friend the most, Draco finds one in the unlikely company of their new prisoner.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> For a long time, possibly years, I have loved the potential of a Draco & Luna friendship. When on my last reread of Deathly Hallows, this idea came to me. I hope you enjoy it!

There are times Draco thinks that all he needs is a familiar face. Someone who isn’t one of the Death Eaters, those who make him feel constantly on edge in his own home. A sense of normality. He remembers those years in Hogwarts, the life he scoffed at back then, days which were only a stepping stone to something _better._ It took all of it to fall apart to make him realise how much he took for granted.

Lessons, taunts with Harry Potter and his friends, teachers and pupils alike—it was such a simple life. He misses the security of that simplicity. And not living in the horror of war himself, not understanding where the Dark Arts could lead, made him ignorant to where this path would bring him. He knows, now. The war is destroying lives on either side. He was a fool to ever think it would be different.

Although he wants to be brought back to those times, to see someone he even disliked back then, he knows that this would not comfort him in reality. Ollivander’s capture was a shock in itself. Seeing that old, weathered face in comparison to the passionate, if not slightly mad expression Draco saw at eleven struck him with the cold horror that nothing will ever be the same.

Back then, Draco had gloated in the wand that chose him, and enjoyed the visit to Ollivander above all else. Part of him even wanted someone so renowned to talk about how great he would be. All these years later, with Ollivander kept in their manor after his torture from Voldemort, Draco is the opposite. Seeing that man when he was first captured had been terrifying. He hated watching a part of his childhood die. And even now, all this time after Ollivander’s capture, he still cannot look that man in the eye when he is given the duty to provide the pitiable rations that the Death Eaters grant their prisoners.

So these wishes to see someone from his past, Draco realises, are fruitless. It would do nothing but strengthen his desire for everything to end. After all, to see those he once knew would mean they were captured, or worse, and that is something he can’t bear. Even the murder of Hogwarts’ Muggle Studies professor still haunts him, despite how he never actually spoke to her, nor can he even recall her name.

It is simply impossible to drive away this numbing loneliness and fear.

* * *

“Draco?”

Draco looks up from his desk at the sound of his mother’s voice outside the door, her fist knocking against it. His eyes close briefly as he gets to his feet. Time alone usually does get cut short.

He opens it, finding her own tired eyes. “The Death Eaters will be arriving soon. I think that it will be best for you to be downstairs for when they arrive, just in case Bella is with them.”

He nods. Bellatrix is hardly the type to be patient. And with a task like this, one that she is particularly excited for, she would rather everyone be there as she gloats.

“Let me just finish getting ready,” he says. She smiles—such a painful, strained smile that comforts him no more than the tears she sheds in secret—and heads down the corridor. He turns around, fixing the collar of his robes in the reflection of a horizontal mirror hung on the wall. How much he hates that _their_ home is used as headquarters. It makes the most sense when the barriers are this strong, and the manor itself is useful, but he knows that a large reason for it is so Voldemort can continue toying with the Malfoys.

A murmur of voices greets him as he heads down towards the foyer. His parents notice him as he is halfway down the grand staircase. His father appears as worn as his wife, although there’s some relief on his face, too—Draco is certain that his father simply wishes all of this to end, no matter which side it is.

By the time Draco joins their side, Narcissa’s hand stroking over his back, the doors to the manor open. The laughter of the Death Eaters enters the home.

“Piece of cake, Cissy!” comes the voice of Bellatrix. “Her friends tried to intervene, but holding them off was as easy as taking sweets from a baby.”

“It’s better to make sure,” says Narcissa. “I’m sure with what the Quibbler have been publishing, Potter will want to visit Xenophilius Lovegood before long.”

“Here’s the girl,” says another Death Eater behind Bellatrix. He and another person have frogmarched a girl into the home, despite how she seems fine to walk by herself, even with her hands tied behind her back.

In fact, she is glancing around the room in mild surprise, as though simply intrigued by the interior of the home she has stepped into. She is indifferent to the Death Eaters by her side, despite how her ruffled dirty-blonde hair, bruise on her cheek and a trickle of blood down her chin suggest she hasn’t been treated with care.

“Did you capture her on the Hogwarts Express?” asks Lucius.

“That’s right,” says Bellatrix. “The little kids are going back to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays.”

Christmas holidays … Naturally, with all that has transpired, celebrating the holidays have been far from the Malfoys’ minds. Distant memories of he and his friends gloating about their gifts on the Hogwarts Express reach his thoughts.

He is trying to not look at Luna. The two have crossed paths very little, the closest to this being when the Inquisitorial Squad captured members of Dumbledore’s Army. Still, she is a reminder of that life, and he attempts to keep his attention away from her.

“Draco,” he jumps slightly over Bellatrix saying his name, “perhaps you would like to make yourself useful and take her to the dungeons? Ollivander’s cell is fine.”

 _Not exactly,_ is what he thinks, but he nods. He’s finally pushed to look at her properly again. And now she is not marvelling at the room in amazement, her pale eyes meet his.

“Oh, I know you,” she says, her voice dreamlike. “You’re—”

Draco inwardly flinches as the back of Bellatrix’s hand slaps her face. “Now, dear! No speaking unless you’re spoken to … I despise blood traitors little less than mudbloods.”

“Draco, take her,” says Narcissa, quite calmly. “You can untie her wrists when she is there.”

He rushes forward without glancing at his aunt. Luna is staring at him curiously when he takes her arm from the Death Eater. Though he does everything he can to avoid this gaze, he can still feel it.

Even she, however, knows not to speak when she has been directly told not to. She only does so when the pair are a good distance away from everyone else.

“I believe that woman is your aunt, isn’t she?” she says. “She’s not very nice.”

Draco merely gives a slight nod, unsure of which question he is replying to.

“You were never nice either, so I can’t say I’m surprised. You never bullied me, but you were quite mean to others.”

Huh. So this is what they meant when he has heard about how blunt she can be. “I guess so.”

“But you changed. You were sad last year, and you seem even more so now.” She hums when he remains silent. “I suppose it’s from all you have to do as a Death Eater. You _are_ one, aren’t you?” He nods. “You’re so young, too. Daddy would have never let me go fighting in this war, even though I _would_ fight with Harry if I knew where he was.”

“My father doesn’t want this for me, either,” says Draco, finding the need to defend his family. “I became a Death Eater whilst he was in Azkaban.”

“Oh, yes, that would be the case.”

She’s treating this as though it’s a casual conversation over afternoon tea. It’s completely puzzling, yet also rather fascinating. Either way, he is rather glad to be descending the steps to the dungeons at least. He’s not sure on what to say or even how to react to her.

He unlocks the door to the cellar, not needing to push Luna inside; she wanders in with the same vague surprise as before.

“Oh, it sure is dark in here.”

“Who’s there?” says the voice of Ollivander, as Draco proceeds to untie Luna’s bindings with a flick of his wand. She barely seems to notice.

“Mr Ollivander!” exclaims Luna; her eyes must have adjusted to the darkness enough to be able to see him, sitting against the left wall. “They did say you would be here. How do you do?”

“As well as I can be, I suppose,” says Ollivander, apparently as taken aback as Draco is by her positive voice. Unsure of how much more he can take of this confusion, Draco leaves the room silently, locking the door after himself.

What a strange girl.

* * *

Draco has not seen Ollivander often during the man’s imprisonment here. Usually, Pettigrew is the one to supply him with food and water, whilst Draco is left to his other duties. However, perhaps sensing how the Malfoys’ support of the dark side is wavering, Draco is now often the one to go down to the dungeons. It’s as though he is being reminded of what is happening to his old classmates.

Only it has the reverse effect often times, because during her stay here, Luna’s attitude has not changed.

“Good afternoon, Draco,” Luna says, always in that light, airy tone. Draco merely gives a slight nod of his head, handing the food rations over to the two prisoners. “It’s a shame you never stay long. I would like to chat with you.”

“I’ve got stuff to do.”

“For You-Know-Who?” Draco flinches. “As always, you do not seem happy about it. I think it would help to speak to your friends.”

He remains silent. The truth is that he hasn’t seen any of his friends for a time he doesn’t know, and he’s not sure on where their loyalties will lie when he finally reunites with them. They had been in awe over his role in Voldemort’s plans. What do they think of him, now it’s become common knowledge among them that he is so _afraid?_

“I’ve always thought you were too young to be a Death Eater,” says Ollivander. Draco glances to him, finding himself surprised; underneath the light on the end of Draco’s wand, he is able to see that Ollivander appears a little younger. Still worn down, a frightened old man, but with a flicker of hope in his eyes.

And it’s clear what—or rather, who—is the reason for it.

Hope is something that Draco hasn’t felt for a long time. Enough to have forgotten what it means, even. Deep down, he knows that the his side shouldn’t win, that Voldemort’s reign will spread further, taking all under his command. The world would not survive beneath that. But he is not hopeful for that future, and has merely desired an escape of some kind.

Seeing an emotion that he knows so little almost frightens him. He leaves without another word, although not without a newfound wish; to speak to Luna properly.

The days drag by, as they always do. A swiftly passing blur yet endless all at once. He’s never able to stay long, fearful of the suspicions that may arise. This finally changes one day. He heads down into the dungeon that evening, unable to mask the pain that’s on his face.

“What happened?” asks Luna, more serious than usual, although not without her usual gentleness. He finally cannot avoid her.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he says, before he can stop himself. Luna nods in acceptance. And she pats the concrete floor next to her.

He flickers her gaze between her and that spot, even to Ollivander, who gives a weary smile. A dozen thoughts rush through Draco’s mind at once. How much he’s scared that all he has bottled up will burst, and wondering if he even has the time to say _something._ Anything.

“They wouldn’t expect you back at this time, I’m certain,” says Luna. “From a logical standpoint, You-Know-Who not letting his servants rest would be harmful to his plans.”

She seems to know that logic would soothe him. He hovers for a moment longer before he finally sits down next to her, the floor damp underneath him. His eyes stare at the light emitted by his wand. It is shaking slightly in his unstable grip.

“He keeps getting me to do things I don’t want to do.”

“What kind of things?”

“Using the Cruciatus curse. Torturing people.”

Luna hums, feet tapping the floor. “And I suppose that he threatens to do the same to you if you don’t obey. That is tough.”

“I’m not chivalrous enough to take it in heed of someone else,” Draco mutters.

“No, I can’t imagine you are.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“That you’re not chivalrous, I thought I made that clear,” says Luna. “But not everyone is. And chivalry isn’t always the answer, either. If you let yourself be tortured and that would hold off someone’s own pain, and let them escape or be rescued, then that would make you a hero. But if you get tortured and that other person will still be hurt anyway, then you’re just another victim.”

This silences him. He glances at her, replaying her words in his mind, before diverting his gaze back to the floor. “Funny you should think that, when you’re friends with those Gryffindors.”

“Yes, they can be reckless, can’t they? And I do admire them, but bravery isn’t the answer to everything. I can tell you don’t want to do this to them, either.”

“Obviously I don’t!” Draco spits. “I know I’ve done a lot of bad things, but—but I never wanted to hurt people this way, I just know he’ll kill me if I—”

“That’s what I’m saying,” she says, and her voice calms his defensive attitude. “I always heard about how much of a bully you were. But I don’t think you’re nothing but a bad person.”

“Would a good person torture people?”

“I don’t think it is that simple. I bet even Harry would torture someone, if they did something that really got under his skin. And _he’s_ a good person.”

“Of course _Saint Potter_ is.”

To his surprise, Luna smiles with amusement. “That is why I wouldn’t worry. Not about this, anyway.”

When he leaves the cellar, though none of his problems have naturally been solved, he finds his shoulders feel a fair bit lighter.

* * *

Finding time to visit Luna is difficult. He cannot risk doing so when there are Death Eaters in the home. Wormtail is an issue, but he’s certain that his mother is catching on to how he lingers down there, and may find a way to distract Wormtail to give Draco time. It’s other Death Eaters that are a concern.

But he doubts that Luna will stay here for too long. Whether Potter will come directly to the manor, or cause a diversion with Luna’s father, it’s not likely that Luna will be left to fend for her own devices. Not when her head is on the line. The thought is beginning to terrify Draco, and even though he doesn’t wish to see her in the cell, at least it brings him the relief that they have not yet killed her.

“You’re in Ravenclaw, aren’t you?” asks Draco.

“Indeed.” She adds in a sing-song voice, “ _Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.”_

“And the year below? That’s why I’d have never seen you in my classes.”

“That’s right. Same year as Ginny Weasley. I like her, she’s stopped people from picking on me before.”

Perhaps this is hypocritical of him for being a bully himself, but the thought frustrates him. Sure, she is incredibly odd, but … her presence has been nothing but comforting. Although he’s ashamed to admit that if she _had_ been in his year, he would have likely been one of those bullies.

“What do you do about that?” he finds himself asking.

“Oh, I just ignore it, you know … It’s bothersome, but it’s only words. They only do as much harm as I let them. But it is very horrible. You should be guilty that you bullied, too.” _Ouch._ “Why _did_ you bully?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “How I was raised, I guess.”

“Oh yes, pureblood households can be like this, can’t they?” says Luna thoughtfully. “Believing they’re above everyone else. I can see why that mindset would be pushed onto their children, too.”

“It’s these ideals being passed down that have helped ignite this war,” says Ollivander, bringing the two teenagers’ eyes to him; he often lets them speak among themselves. “Certainly, it does not excuse actions. But it explains them.”

Luna hums. “It reminds me a little of raising a dog. They’re not inherently vicious or violent, but the wrong owner can teach them all sorts of foul things. They don’t know any better, because that’s how they’ve been raised.”

“I can’t say I like being compared to a dog,” Draco says, a little loudly.

“Oh, but I’m not saying you _are_ one. Just that you were raised one way, too, just like your parents … It all goes back, see? It’s not really until you face the real world yourself and deal with hardships too, that you realise you’re in the wrong. That’s what I imagine, anyway.”

Draco is silent as he ponders over this, tip of his shoe scuffing into the ground. He’s not sure how guilty he is over past actions. These days, all those years are merely a blur, so pitiful compared to what he faces now.

But his priorities have certainly shifted. He cared so much about being better than everyone else, to prove himself and his purity of blood, but now … All he wants is to get out of here. Alive. And start making a new life for himself, a normal life, not made for him because of a surname.

And he realises, in a way, that is growth, too.

* * *

“How are you able to stay so cheerful?”

“Hmm?”

It’s the one question that has been playing on Draco’s mind since she was taken prisoner. He deemed her dreamy state as odd that first day, wondering how someone can not be in utter panic when brought to the current headquarters of the Dark Lord. Wouldn’t it have been normal to fear for her life?

But that wasn’t, and still isn’t, Luna. She has been going about her days normally. Or at least, what is deemed ordinary for her.

“You’ve been positive since you were taken here,” says Draco. “Not scared at all. How is that?”

“Oh, well, it’s just one of those things. None of us have really had things be easy for us, have we? I mean, the punishments back in Hogwarts, too …” She places a card down, the king of which strikes a pose—Draco knows that bringing Wizards’ Chess or similar would be risky, but a deck of cards to help entertain the prisoners is manageable. “We all have it rough. And I’m certain I won’t be staying here forever, so I need to think about what I will do after.”

It’s things like this which have transformed Draco’s confusion over Luna into admiration. He’s not able to do anything but think about surviving in the moment, although Luna understands this, too.

“I imagine it won’t be too much longer you will stay here,” says Ollivander, placing down a card as well. “Has there been anything else, away from Harry Potter and Hermione Granger making an escape from Luna’s home?”

Draco shakes his head. “They’ll keep Luna until they decide the best course of action, most likely.”

“Well, I’m sure if they planned to kill me, they would have done so by now,” she says, quite cheerfully. “Harry is always very reckless. I’ve been feeling like he’s going to come bursting in here and saving me, whether it be his choice or not …”

“His choice?” asks Ollivander.

“They may end up capturing him, if he’s not careful,” says Luna. “So maybe he’ll get captured, and save me on his way out. It wouldn’t surprise me very much.”

A pang of what seems to be jealousy reaches Draco’s chest. The thought that _he_ could end up taking Luna away from him, someone who has shed some light on this overbearing darkness. Part of Draco is guilty for thinking this way. He _does_ want Luna to be free, but simultaneously …

“Don’t worry.” Draco’s eyes land on Luna; she seems to have guessed what Draco is thinking. “Even if I do leave here, we will still be friends.”

His mouth drops open. “Friends?”

“Are we not friends?” Her head tilts slightly. “I’ve felt like we are. We get on well, don’t you think?”

“I mean, yeah, but …”

“I understand. I’ve had many people who I thought were my friends, only for them to hang my shoes from the ceiling, or hide my books in the Owlery and get them covered in owl droppings. But I promise I won’t do that to you.”

“No, I know that,” says Draco, scratching the back of his head. “I just—haven’t really had many friends, either. Not proper ones, like you.”

“Then I’m very happy to be your friend.”

Her smile is contagious, and he realises that this is the first wide, genuine smile, he has had on his face in a long time.

* * *

Luna’s predictions come true. Harry Potter, along with his two musketeers, are captured by the Snatchers. Draco’s father had been trembling in excitement—Draco himself, on the other hand, had to hold back his own trembles of fear. Luna’s presence made him realise how much he didn’t want to see everyone he once knew die, no matter what their relationship had been like in school.

Perhaps that is why he lied. It was obvious it was Potter, really. But he couldn’t bear the weight of being the result of his death. Even if they discovered his identity regardless, Draco couldn’t live with the guilty conscience of knowing that was because of him.

It is Dumbledore all over again. Perhaps he would have properly lowered his wand that night, had the Death Eaters not joined them. Draco cannot handle the thought of murder, as Dumbledore had understood. Back then, Draco deemed that as cowardice. Through Luna, he’s understood there are different types of strength, of bravery, and that no one is the same.

He winces as he rolls over in bed. Voldemort had been furious over being called to the manor only to learn of Potter’s escape, and didn’t hesitate to unleash his wrath on everyone present. Draco, however, is strangely relieved. There had been resolve in that trio. A resolve that might just bring a little hope during these times, despite Draco previously deeming this as impossible.

And Luna … He can only hope she stays safe, now she has been rescued. The jealousy he felt has long since been replaced by a mixture of disappointment and relief. He will miss her, uncertain if they will truly meet again, but he should be grateful that they might even have the chance to do so.

He would love to see her, one day. Away from that cold cell, which never truly chilled him when sat with Luna’s warmth.


End file.
